


Boss Around

by hello_imasalesman



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Face-Fucking, M/M, No main story spoilers, PWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-21
Updated: 2015-11-21
Packaged: 2018-05-02 17:28:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5257313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hello_imasalesman/pseuds/hello_imasalesman
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I mean, if you’re gonna let those bucket heads boss you around—“ Hancock pauses, his voice growing tight with anticipation, “Might as well do the same. That’s the way you like it, huhn?” (PWP sequel to Thirty God-Damn Dicks)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Boss Around

Cade clears his throat, tucking his pen behind his ear as he glares pointedly towards Hancock. “Well, now-“ Sole’s laughter has peaked, beyond simply funny to the kind of hysterical cackle that one can’t hold back without fear of pulling something, tears in his eyes. The doctor is clearly annoyed, nose wrinkled in disgruntlement. “You’ve passed. Seemingly.” He says, flatly. Hancock sorely rubs at his head through his hat. “I need to retrieve your blood work. Feel free to change back into your clothes.”

Sole can’t catch his breath to even croak out an “ _okay_ ” before the doctor rises from his seat. He pointedly snaps a, “Don’t touch anything,” as he closes the curtain at Hancock, and the ghoul’s smirk doesn’t falter at the other man’s clear annoyance. As soon as the footsteps fade away, Hancock pushes the curtain aside and slides his way in, pulling it tightly closed behind.

“Aw, shit…” Sole wheezes, his chest shaking as he rubs the tears from his eyes. “Oh, fuck. _Woo_.” He opens his eyes, grin infectious as he stares at Hancock. “You asshole. You’re gonna get us killed up here.” There’s no real malice in his voice, just fond humor.

Hancock sidles up to the medical gurney. “Oh, I doubt it. You think they’ll murder such a perfect specimen of perfect pre-war humanity?”

Sole rolls his eyes, pushing himself off the table. “Flatterer.”

“Truther.” Hancock jabs a finger towards him. “I bet they want to clone you or something. An army of giant, pre-war genetics, ghoul fuckin’—“

Sole lurches over, air hissing out of him like an angry kettle as he goes to clamp a hand over Hancock’s mouth; the smaller of the two sidesteps, laughing.

“I’m serious, Hancock! Keep it down.”

“Ah, you’re no fun.”

Hancock tracks Sole’s movement with his eyes, the way he unconsciously smooths the flat of his hand down the front of his too-short paper gown. Sole shakes his head, approaching the table where he had earlier shed his clothes in a hurry. “Yeah, well. I hope they’re not cloning me back there.” He reaches behind his back, fumbling for the tie of the open-back gown. “I can’t believe I went through all of this and I bet they don’t even have any information on the Institute. Figures, with my luck—“

When he reaches back, his hands hit something solid. In an instant, he’s crammed up against the wall, Hancock pressing firmly behind him. He swears under his breath as the ghoul’s rough hands part his gown easily, humming a jaunty Cole Porter tune as he undoes the knot with one yank and slides his hands up the expanse of his back and the muscles defined there. Sole shivers, rolling his shoulders, and his exhale comes out as more of a sigh.

“Hancock—“

“We have time,” He muses in reply, the fabric of his word trousers flush against his bare ass. His hands slide down his sides, across thick hips and the slight padding of his stomach and torso that belied the muscles underneath. He drags his fingertips up, and then rakes his nails down his nipples already hard in the brisk temperature of the clinic, and Sole’s back arches automatically, breath hitching. “Besides, don’t you think this is a better way to get back at those power-armored assholes instead of stealing all the opiates from the supply cabinet?”

Sole immediately stiffens, trying to turn around in Hancock’s grasp. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“That I _saw_ you stuffing the Med-X from the table over there in your pocket when the good Doctor had his back turned.” Hancock pushes back against Sole’s insistence to move, and he relents into Hancock’s firm push to get him up against the wall with a grunt. “What, you think I wouldn’t notice?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Bullshit. You’re better than that, Sole.”

Sole feels his the tips of his ears heat and his stomach drop from the shame of being caught, but he’s not one to admit his faults, dourly mumbling, “Why do you care? It’s the Brotherhood.”

“Because we’re—you’re—better than that.” Hancock’s voice is almost gentle, hands slowly starting to roam again.

Sole shifts, unconsciously sucking in his stomach as Hancock’s hands drag lower. “Yeah, ‘m not—“ He sucks in a sharp breath, forehead pressed hard against the cold steel wall, eyes screwing closed. “You know, when you’re touching me like that, I can’t tell if this is a punishment or a reward?”

“What, it can’t be _both_?” Hancock deadpans as he wraps his hand around Sole’s cock; he’s already hard, and Hancock strokes him twice, nimble fingers twisting over the head of his cock. The Sole Survivor pulls his bottom lip into his mouth and bites down so hard he can taste blood. “A little reward for me, a punishment for you…”

Sole rubs his forehead against the cold metal, presses his fist-crooked nose hard there so some clarity comes to his sex-slickened thoughts. Hancock rolls his palm over the head of his cock, starts to jerk him in earnest. “ _Fuck_ —this is what you call punishment?”

Hancock leans up and chuckles darkly against the shell of his good ear. “Nah, this is just the warm-up.” Sole fists one hand against the wall, and his other hand reaches back to ground himself in the belt loops of Hancock’s pants. “Y’know, I’m not cruel. I kinda got that Old Testament thing going, fair and brutal—“

It’s embarrassing how quickly Hancock can get Sole to the edge, but his hands are quick and practiced and rough in just the right ways, and his strokes are long and fast. He groans involuntarily, thrusting forward and grinding back as his lips part—

And then Hancock’s gripping the base of his cock, hard, and the noise that escapes Sole’s lips is something he’s only heard come out of a dog that’s been kicked, jerking so hard on Hancock’s belt loop he nearly rips it clean off. “Han _cock_ —“

“Sorry.” He can hear the grin in the ghoul’s voice. “Too quick?”

“I’m gonna _kill_ you.”

“Nah, I think you’re gonna listen to me.” He feels Hancock shift his hips, his knuckles brushing against his ass as he single-handedly starts to undo the front of his slacks with a clatter of his belt. “I think you’re going to suck me off, right here and now. And maybe if you’re quick enough, you’ll get done before the Doctor sees.”

Sole swears quietly and twists around as Hancock steps back. There’s that kind of wild fire in his eyes, and Hancock always looks like the cat that got the canary, especially with his pants just down enough so that he could pull his dick from his shorts, hips canted as he leans against the edge of the nearby table. He knows he’s damn good looking, knows he’s charismatic. It drives him crazy, that kind of up-the-wall can’t keep your hands off of each other thing, and he hates the ghoul a tiny bit for making him feel like that again.

He knows all of Sole’s buttons, all of his little tells and the ways to get him swearing and pliant in his hands. (Which, if Sole thought about it, was probably the reason why he was a mayor and he was just some shmuck looking for his kid in the grand scheme of things.) Hancock watches Sole with an eager, unabashed stare, shamelessly ogling the way his cock juts forward, the precum soaking through the material. Sole huffs in frustration, scrambling to his knees in front of the ghoul. It’s a good look for him, down there. Hancock rubs his hand over that soldier-boy buzz cut fuzz over his head, sighing as Sole takes his cock in hand. “I mean, if you’re gonna let those bucket heads boss you around—“ He pauses, only momentarily as Sole’s breath ghosts over his length, his voice growing tight with anticipation, “Might as well do the same. That’s the way you like it, huhn?”

Sole replies with a long lick of Hancock’s shaft, from base to tip, his flushed face contradicting the annoyed, creased brow. He simultaneously relishes and hates sucking Hancock off. There’s just enough of him to suck off with his fist to compensate where his gag reflex won’t allow, and there’s just something about sucking cock, the taste and the weight of it on his tongue, the way it’s the most intimate thing you could do in the back of an alleyway (or a Brotherhood of Steel’s doctor’s office, where they’re going to be murdered soon, for god’s sake–), the way Hancock’s hips minutely swivel as he struggles to contain himself. But then he digs his fingers into Sole’s scalp and when he looks up, all he sees is those endless black eyes are the kind of idolatry reserved for lovers and confidants and it makes the back of Sole’s knees sweat and his eyes dart for the nearest needle of psycho.

Sole pulls his lips over his teeth and sinks down, swallowing around Hancock’s shaft. The ghoul groans, bites at the ruined skin of his knuckles to stifle the noise, and just watches himself disappear between those perfect smoothskin lips hugging his cock.

“Shit, Sole. If only you could see yourself from here.” Hancock murmurs, “I mean, it helps that you have such a great looking ghoul in your mouth, but brother—“ Sole’s dark eyes glare up at him as his head bobs, his free hand holding onto his thigh. “You look _good_.”

Sole’s reply is a simultaneous glower and an intricate movement from his tongue that nearly makes Hancock’s knees buckle under him. He slides down, and then pulls off with a wet noise, his closed fist momentarily replacing his mouth. Hancock watches as Sole laps at the head of his cock, runs his tongue along the frenulum, and then lowers himself halfway down and stops. Hancock’s mouth opens to say something, but the Sole Survivor is looking up at him expectantly, and he feels his throat constrict at the implication.

He starts slow, at first, barely pushing him hips into Sole’s open mouth, his relaxed throat. But then he closes his eyes and moans quietly around his shaft and Hancock has no reservations left, especially not when he sees him openly palming himself through the front of his gown from the corner of his eye. Hancock cradles the back of Sole’s head and thrusts, allowing himself one small, tiny groan in the confines of the sterile medical bay, quiet save for the obscene sucking sound of Sole’s lips around his cock.

Sole gags, digs his fingers into Hancock’s thigh and tries to pull him forward. He’s so close himself, now, and if it wasn’t for the concentration it took not to gag too hard he would have came by now, would have stained the front of this stupid smock that reminds him of his first physical back in bootcamp. Hancock’s fingers are desperately adjusting and readjusting their grip on the back of his head. He’s close, now, he always can tell when the other can’t find a use for his hands and he’s two seconds away from murmuring some romantic sex-spurned soliloquy in his ear.

Both of Sole’s palms are suddenly flat on Hancock’s hips and he stops his thrusts immediately; the Sole Survivor pulls back, breathlessly gasping. He wraps his hand, the one without the wedding ring, around his length and gives him those last few quick pumps, and Hancock is coming over his face, his head tilted back towards the ceiling as he digs his fingers into the back of Sole’s scalp.

Sole huffily wipes off his face with the back of his hand, (because yeah, he left those last time, trying to be sexy, and turns out ghoul jizz does have enough radiation to sting, who knew. Maybe that doctor has a damn point.) staring up as Hancock leans back and sags against the medical table. That damned, stupidly handsome ghoul; he should be more mad at how good he looks, even with a quickly slackening cock hanging from his pants and the kind of dopey grin one usually finds on a drifter with too much Med-X in the system.

He eases himself to his feet, grunting at the feel of his knees as he does so. He grabs the front of Hancock’s shirt just as the sound of footsteps become apparent; they move fast, automatic. Hancock is darting for his pants zipper, and Sole is turning to the table with his clothes, trying to throw on his pants as fast as his swollen erection would allow.

Cade pulls back the curtain. Hancock is seated on the gurney; Sole has his back to the doctor, fumbling with his undershirt. The doctor frowns for a moment, holding the report in his hand a beat too long before clearing his throat.

“Your test results came back fine. Completely normal and healthy. Type A, as you said.”

Sole coughs, “Uh, thanks Doc. You can take ‘em, I won’t need them for anything.” He turns around as he finally tugs his shirt on and over. The Doctor nods, slow, apparent on his face that he knows he missed _something_ —he’s just not sure what, exactly, even with the red coloring Sole’s face and the calm exterior on Hancock’s.

The Doctor looks at Hancock once more, stops, and then turns to leave. Sole releases that breath he had been holding in, idly adjusting his cock now painfully trapped between his belly and his belt. Hancock is all grins, sliding off the gurney. He settles a hand against the small of his back, warm and unbelievably gentle.

“Ready to head out, Knight?”

“You owe me, Hancock.”

The ghoul idly plucks a Med-X from Sole’s pocket, dropping the needle to the floor. It makes a delicate noise as it clatters underneath the table. “Fair is fair. You’ll get yours as soon as we’re off this balloon.”

Sole sighs and watches as another of his pilfered medications falls underneath, and he finally swats Hancock’s hand away. “Alright, alright—“ He digs into his pockets, pulls the rest of the vials out and scatters them haphazardly onto the table. “Now let’s get out of here before they start cloning you from the DNA I wiped off on that gown.”

“Ah,” Hancock smiles, pushing the curtain back and leading the way out. “The roguish counterparts to the genetically pure ghoul fucker army.”

Sole can’t help but snort. He almost grabs one of the Med-x hanging off the edge of the table as Hancock leaves first, but refrains. “Yeah, yeah. Some counterpart.”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm Hancock trash. Check out my tumblr [civilization-illstayrighthere](http://civilization-illstayrighthere.tumblr.com) for more trash. Thanks for any comments or kudos!


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